


A starving faithful

by Ostodvandi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Gender Dysphoria, Glenn Fraldarius Lives, M/M, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Trans Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi
Summary: Rodrigue drinks, standing miserably on one corner of the ballroom, watching Lambert and Genevieve dance after their wedding. Rufus is there as well, and encourages him to make a mistake that will change everything.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius & Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, Rufus Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Comments: 19
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've put way too much effort on something that so little people will read seriously but alas, my fic planning has been interrupted once again. Goddammit.
> 
> The Rufus that appears here was pretty much Aija's creation, I just put a little of my own flavor here. In fact the whole idea was hers! I'm just the messenger.
> 
> Idk how often I'm going to upload this considering dimilix and Felix week are coming next month and I'm still stuying for finals, but I'll do my best.
> 
> Also beware of unhealthy coping mechanisms including very unhealthy ways of dealing with sex.

Sometimes, no champagne or any other alcohol is enough to drown certain sorrows, and sometimes one is deeply aware of this. That's why Rodrigue tries to not drink tonight, at least not much: with a half-empty glass on one hand, the other tucked inside his pocket, he's the image of demure tranquility, even if there is a whole storm going on inside him.

In the middle of the hall, Lambert dances with his dear wife, unable to look at anyone else for more than five seconds. He gets it, really. He understands, and he knows his position very well, and he won't question it. He gives the alcohol another sip, a tired, resigned one, convincing himself that there is no point in drowning himself in a sea of misery.

A hand grabs his shoulder, making him jump on the spot. And it shouldn't, because he's a Fraldarius, and he's Lambert's best man, and of course people would approach him.

'Bored, Fraldarius?'

Rufus' voice sends a shiver down his spine, but he has no reason - yet - to plainly reject his presence. '...I'm afraid not.'

'Curious. I'd swear you were scowling.'

'Maybe the lights of these festivities have blinded you. Or perhaps it was the alcohol.'

'I haven't drunk much tonight.' He bends down, closer to Rodrigue's ear. 'Maybe we have that in common.'

Rodrigue stays silent. It probably won't work, but perhaps Rufus will leave him alone if he just ignores him.

He should've known better, because he doesn't. 'Look at them. They must be having the time of their lives. Ah, joy.'

'I am glad for them and their union. Aren't you?'

'Of course, of course.' Rodrigue's stomach twists at Rufus' fake smile. 'It's just, seeing people like that… Clinging to each other and making eyes at each other. It makes me want to retch.'

'They are in love,' Rodrigue interjects, way too jumpy, way too irritated for his usual serene stance.

'And you? Are you in love,' he gets just a little closer, and Rodrigue's grip on his glass tightens. 'Rodrigue?'

He wants to run away from here, from Rufus' voice, from Lambert dancing with his wife, from the happiness he, deep down, can't feel. He stays silent, because admitting his feelings has always been out of the question, and because the best option seems to still be ignoring him.

But of course the eldest Blaiddyd won't give him such a chance. 'Would you offer me a dance? Far away from here.’

Away from the scene of Lambert dancing with his wife.

Away from the people that would endlessly congratulate the happy couple.

Far, far away from the source of his heartache.

‘I suppose I could use fresh air,’ he accepts, placing his glass of alcohol aside. Rufus offers him a hand, but Rodrigue ignores it, walking out of the ballroom without sparing him a look. 

‘Cold,’ he hears him comment in a low voice, and follows him from a short distance. The gardens are near the ballroom, and as beautiful as they can be, being late Faerghusian spring. The sun has already set, and Rodrigue squints, trying to get used to the darkness.

Rufus’ hand touches the small of his back, pressing against it. ‘What-’

‘You promised me a dance.’

‘I didn’t promise anything.’

‘Come on.’ He is now gripping Rodrigue’s hip, the other hand catching Rodrigue’s. ‘Just a little, Fraldarius. To get your mind off of… less pleasant thoughts.’

There are no pleasant thoughts to have around Rufus, to be honest, but if this is all he has to do for the eldest Blaiddyd to leave him alone, he’ll do it. His free hand reluctantly creeps up Rufus’ shoulder, and the innumerable dancing lessons he’s gone through all his life move his body automatically, and, hopefully, he can zone out until this particular song stops.

Again, Rufus doesn’t gift him a moment of respite. ‘It’s a shame.’

‘What is, Rufus?’

‘That you must spend this night alone, while he’s having fun.’

‘And why would you care about that, if I may ask?’

The small laugh that comes out of him makes Rodrigue shiver. ‘Because you deserve a little better than to watch them make heart eyes at each other like a sad little puppy, Fraldarius.’

‘I was not… I am happy for them.’

‘I don’t like being lied to.’

‘Which is ironic, considering your tendency for doing it yourself.’

‘Allow me to rephrase, then.’ He pulls Rodrigue closer, and the latter looks up at his eyes, so similar yet so different to Lambert’s. ‘I hate it when someone lies when their true feelings are so blatant.’

Rodrigue swallows down saliva, and the hand on his hip starts rubbing up and down, causing his heart to start racing. ‘Do you know what you deserve, Fraldarius?’ He bends down, his lips against Rodrigue’s temple. ‘To have fun. To loosen up… To be touched in the way he’d never touch you.’

His voice comes out embarrassingly weak, more a sigh than a word. ‘Rufus-’

‘Let me treat you a little, Fraldarius,’ he murmurs, and his voice feels like poisoned honey against his ear. ‘Since he won’t.’

And he isn’t wrong: Lambert would never touch him the way Rodrigue wants him to, even less now that he has his beloved wife by his side, and the yearning will stay nonetheless. If he hasn’t been able to brush it off during all the years he’s known Lambert, he never will, but he can live with it. He can ignore it, bear it, until the day he dies if he has to. All for Lambert’s comfort, for Lambert’s happiness.

But maybe something like this could alleviate it. Take small bits of the ache away, just enough to lessen the empty pain inside of him, to help him go on with his days with at least fewer tears in his chest.

And so he sighs. ‘...Alright.’

If Rufus is surprised, he doesn’t show it, and his lips kiss Rodrigue’s ear, getting an easy whine out of him. 

‘Good. My bedroom is close.’

Rodrigue nods, silently resigning himself to this.

  
  


Rufus lays him down on the bed, oddly tender for his usual mannerisms, especially when Rodrigue is looking right into his eyes. They look at him without seeing, ulterior motives evident in the way he touches and looks at Rodrigue, but he can’t bring himself to care. He allows him, because their trade is simple: Rufus gets whatever it is he wants to obtain by sleeping with him, and Rodrigue gets to think about something that isn’t his own heartbreak. This night is a simple, cold deal. 

And so he allows Rufus’ hands to stroke his skin. His fingers are slender, his palms soft, so far from Lambert’s strong and calloused hands that he can’t even find some solace in imagining it’s his friend who is hovering over him, undressing him.

He doesn’t like touch, even less coming from someone like him, so he just lies stiff, jaw clenched. Rufus notices, and his index finger strokes down the middle of his exposed chest and stomach. ‘Are you going to be like that the whole time?’

‘Is that a nuisance for you?’

‘I’ve seen whores more competent in bed.’ Rodrigue tries to sit up, but is immediately pushed down by the shoulders. ‘Calm down, Fraldarius. There’s some charm to being someone’s first time too, you know?’

‘Why can’t you just shut your mouth, Rufus?’ Rodrigue whines, brushing his hands off. ‘That will make it easier for both of us.’

He shrugs. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Ever the romantic, Rodrigue had always imagined his first time being with Lambert, in which he would hold his hand on their way to his bedroom, Lambert’s face decorated with an eager smile and maybe a flush. They would have kissed innumerable times on their way to the bed, undressing each other passionately, and Lambert’s gaze wouldn’t linger on Rodrigue’s body but on his eyes, and Lambert would’ve called him gorgeous. Then they would have made love, sweetly, slowly, Rodrigue would have given himself up to Lambert, all of him just as always since the moment they first met. Rodrigue would’ve looked at Lambert like he was his sun, because he was and he is. 

Then, the would’ve woken up together in each other’s arms.

But that isn’t what happens. 

Instead, he stays mostly still, reacting to Rufus’ touch, the way he grabs, kisses and bites his skin, briefly frotting his crotch against Rodrigue’s before unbuttoning his own pants. Rodrigue’s eyes open, eyeing the length between Rufus’ legs, already hardened somehow.

‘I bet that mouth of yours would work well,’ Rufus mutters, pensive. It sounds more like he’s talking to himself, and he drops the subject before Rodrigue can be too disgusted by it. ‘Take your pants off and open your legs.’

Rodrigue hesitates. He doesn’t like showing himself like that to people. He wanted the first person to be Lambert, waiting like an idiot for any chance or sign that he could be attracted to him. He pulls his own pants off, his hands too weak and his mind too dissociated from his body, thinking that if only he had never said he was a man, maybe then-

But that would have been a most miserable existence, even with Lambert’s love. It is not worth it, and his thoughts always end in the same place: not even Lambert’s affections would have been worth that particular kind of self-torture.

He isn’t one to cry, and he deeply doubts this is the usual reaction to this, but his eyes burn when Rufus’ fingers start stroking his labia. ‘What an honor,’ he starts, and Rodrigue wishes he could go deaf for just a few seconds. ‘To see the Fraldarius heir like this.’

Lambert wouldn’t do this. Lambert would ask him if he is alright, would hold him in his arms until Rodrigue’s demons went away, he would kiss him until Rodrigue can’t fathom any of his doubts anymore.

But the truth is, he would never do any of those things, because Lambert doesn’t love him, and never will.

Rufus’ thumb rubs his clit, making Rodrigue gasp as his body tenses up. ‘So you  _ can  _ react to things, huh?’

'Rufus-'

'Oh?' His thumb keeps moving, and one of his fingers enters Rodrigue without a warning, causing his hands to grip the blankets under them. 'Keep saying my name like that.'

'Goddess- Rufus-'

'You've fingered yourself before, haven't you? Thinking about him,' Rufus’ voice whispers into Rodrigue's ear, like a viper's. 'You must have been so lonely, touching yourself in your bedroom…' He has, and the loneliness burns so hard inside him, ever since the moment he realized just how alone he is. 'But I will treat you the way you deserve, Fraldarius. I will touch you the way he never will.'

_ Touch me _ , Rodrigue's mind begs, because it's useless to wish for anything else. Because he's disgusting and nobody else would want him, and he needs to be touched too much for someone who hates it. 

'That's better… Now you're wet enough.'

His fingers stop stroking him, getting a complaint out of Rodrigue, before Rufus' length takes their place, tentatively rubbing its tip against the sensitive skin. 'What-'

'Come on, Fraldarius… Just this once.'

He looks up at him, at the blue eyes that aren't Lambert's, and then as away from them as possible. What does it matter, letting Rufus do something like this? He's already touched all over his body, seen everything he didn't want absolutely anyone to see, so what does it matter? '...Go… Go on.'

A smile appears on Rufus' face, and he grips Rodrigue's hips, pushing inside him slowly, seeming to enjoy every second of it. Rodrigue inhales deeply, biting his lower lip, because he isn't giving this man the pleasure of hearing him moan his name again.

Lambert, Lambert, Lambert.

Rufus thrusts into him, groaning in pleasure with every movement of his hips, muttering words Rodrigue can't hear under the storm of his own thoughts.

Rufus comes inside of him, and ignores Rodrigue's whine as he slumps against his shoulder, breathing against Rodrigue's neck. When the later tries to push him away to walk out of the bed, Rufus refuses to move, speaking more instead. 'He must be still making love to his wife right now. So why don't you stay the night?'

That first sentence feels like an arrow to the chest, and Rodrigue's body drops on the bed again, too liveless and too exhausted.

  
  


Rodrigue wakes up to an absolute silence in Rufus' room, except for his heavy breath and the beating of his own heart. His arms latch onto Rodrigue like they're chaining him down to the bed, and, even if he's not as strong a Lambert, Rodrigue still struggles to free himself from them, only barely managing to sit up.

Stubbornly, Rufus' hand touches his hip, in a motion that could be almost affectionate if it weren't for the person executing it. 'Mmh, why the rush…?'

'Rufus.'

The prince pushes away the blankets, sitting up behind Rodrigue, and his nose nuzzles the crook of his neck. Rodrigue sighs despite himself. 'Let's not be lonely this morning, Fraldarius.'

* * *

'Now rest, my dear.'

His wife smiles at him, Lambert's fingers wrapped in her hair. 'Are you sure it will be fine if I stay...?'

'I am.' He leaves a kiss on her forehead, and gets up from the bed. There are duties waiting for him, and the people are probably eager to see their new queen after the wedding, but he isn't heartless enough to drag his exhausted wife out into the eyes of the court so soon after yesterday's festivities. 'So please, rest well.'

'Will do, my love.'

He walks out of the bedroom, taking a breath and saluting his guards before hearing another sound coming from a couple rooms away. A fight? That voice sounds like–

The door to Rufus' room opens, and when he expects a mistress to come out of it, Rodrigue does instead.

'Rod?'

His voice comes out shakier than he thought it would, his stomach curling when he notices Rodrigue's disheveled hair, the hands on the buttons of the jacket he was wearing last night.

Rodrigue's eyes lock on his, and he smiles, a gesture that would usually ease Lambert's mind, but this time it doesn't. 'Ah, good morning, Your Majesty.' A small bow, the usual from him, and yet it feels forced somehow.

'Good morning.' Lambert salutes back, walking up to him, and noticing the small flinch in Rodrigue's posture that stops any attempt at touching him. 'I… would you join me for breakfast, Rodrigue?'

'Of course, Your Majesty.'

* * *

_ Dear Lambert, _

_ I'm afraid I won't be able to visit Fhirdiad anytime soon. Health matters are keeping me here, but do not worry: I will be fine. As you know, I have medical assistance and my father will take care of all the external matters concerning the dukedom, so I will not be exerting myself. Do not let these news distract you from neither your duties nor your married life.  _

_ With love, _

_ Rodrigue. _

Lambert reads the brief letter all over again, more times than he can count. It's too brief, too impersonal for his comfort. Rodrigue has always counted on him for anything, so why would he hide something from him now? And he's sick, yet expecting him to not worry at all?

'What's wrong, dear?'

Her hand squeezes his shoulder, and Lambert covers it with his own. 'Rodrigue worries me, my dear… I have a bad feeling about this.'

'How so?'

'He says he's sick, but won't… tell me anything about it. His symptoms, how badly ill he is, how… And yet he insists I don't worry, when I simply cannot… just ignore it.'

'I see…' She sits by his side, visibly tired, making Lambert feel just a little guilty for keeping her up. 'Well, your friend has always been like this, hasn't he? Telling you to not worry about what happens to him. Yet I've never seen you this upset about his attitude.'

They haven't known each other for that long, but Lambert looks back to the time before she was present, when it was just him and Rodrigue and all the rest of the world around them. He had never particularly liked Rodrigue's need to keep him away from his worries, but he rarely felt this sick feeling in his stomach when it happened.

So what has changed?

'You're right, I should… settle down, dear. Let us rest.'

'Indeed.' She smiles, kissing him.

Later, in the darkness of the royal chambers, the king looks up, the answer to his question finally dawning on his mind. Rufus.

Rufus has changed everything.

* * *

_ My dearest friend Rodrigue, _

_ I must say, news of your illness alarmed me, and I’m afraid I cannot just forget about it as you wish me to. You are my most precious friend, as you might already know, and thus it’s impossible for me to simply ignore such a situation. Especially, I must add, when I suspect your ailment might have been actively caused, instead of being a product of misfortune. _

_ So, I beg you, as a friend, that you tell me the truth. I’d like to know it, no matter if my suspicions are wrong or right, because I wish to support you through anything, like we’ve always done.  _

_ What has been on my mind is the possibility that your ailment, as I said, might have been caused, specifically by my older brother. If that is indeed the case, allow me to at least try and chastise him into taking any degree of responsibility possible for his actions, as it would be just.  _

_ It is my wish for your to be as joyous as you can be, so take this letter as a reminder of my promise to always be there for you. _

_ With love. _

The letter is signed with his name and the coat of arms of House Blaiddyd, and Rodrigue’s gaze lingers on it, his hands gripping the paper a little too tightly. Then, he scoffs. Responsibility? When has Rufus ever been responsible about anything at all? This won’t be an exception, no matter how massive the scandal would be, Rufus would never give up his freedom for anyone, even less for him and their child.

And then, Rodrigue sighs, folding the letter to put it back in its now open envelope, sliding it inside a drawer and closing it. He’s exhausted, but he always is these days. His father might not be keeping him from going outside into the gardens just yet, but it won’t take long, as his physical state will be more and more visible with every passing week. Just thinking about it makes Rodrigue feel a most uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

He can still wear his usual attire, but what will happen when his stomach grows too much? When he has to go back to the gowns he so despised all his life? He knew this would happen one day, because bringing an heir to house Fraldarius has always been part of his set of duties he’d follow no matter what. But he had hoped for something so very different.

He had hoped to go through this with a partner that would support him through the process, or, at least, offer him some company. In his most daring dreams, he had imagined Lambert by his side, giving him all of the endless affection of his heart.

But all Rodrigue has met, in a crude reality that doesn’t care for his fantasies, has been his father’s sudden cold demeanor ever since he found out about the ordeal, and his little brother’s hesitation to even touch the subject.

He is, effectively, alone in this, and after two months he’s resigned to it, because it’s the easiest path he can take.

* * *

He sees duke Fraldarius visit the capital in his son’s place for the next months, his severe expression always on his face, showing how much more similar Rodrigue must have been to his mother. Even when deadly serious, he is miles more handsome than this old man, and Rufus is convinced it has nothing to do with age.

Lambert receives him, because of course he does, as with all his kingly duties. His level of diligence is, quite frankly, ridiculous, at least from Rufus’ perspective. Always either holding his wife in some way, talking to some important political figure, or both at the same time. Because they are both so ridiculously in love that their honeymoon phase will, apparently, be endless.

But, with all of this, he still has plenty of reasons to feel amused. Duke Fraldarius being here, visibly refusing to even mention his crest-blessed son more than necessary, tells Rufus all he needs to know; but if that wasn’t enough, he also has Lambert’s accusatory stares that grow in intensity as weeks pass by.

‘It has been seven months since Rodrigue fell ill, Rufus.’

As innocently as possible, Rufus puts down his book and looks up at his brother. ‘And?’

‘I was wondering if you were going to visit him anytime soon.’

‘Why would why?’ Feigning confusion, Rufus grins, opening the book again. ‘He’s your friend, not mine.’

‘I’m aware. But I still think you should. It’s the least you can do…’

Rufus cackles, leaning back on his seat. ‘And why don’t you go, if you’re oh so worried about him? I bet he would rather see you instead.’

‘I cannot, Rufus, you know this. I have many royal obligations to attend to…’

‘Like making a little precious heir with your precious wife. I get it.’ The way Lambert’s nose scrunches up widens Rufus’ crooked grin. ‘But, brother, you must understand: I don’t care about your dear friend enough to bother.’

‘This is-’ Lambert inhales, his fists tightly closed. ‘About your child, Rufus.’

‘I don’t know if it’s mine,’ he says, shrugging. ‘What proof do you have?’

‘Rodrigue isn’t the kind of person to- to-’

‘Maybe he actually likes me enough to casually sleep with me, then, is what you’re saying.... Well, you’re not wrong. He was very satisfied by the end of it, I can assure you that.’

The disgust that crosses Lambert’s face is so satisfying, and so the youngest Blaiddyd leaves, muttering something under his breath that Rufus can’t hear properly, but he can guess what it is.

Seven months… Very little time until Rodrigue gives birth. Despite what Lambert might think, or what Rufus might admit to himself, it has been on his mind as of late. The thought might have filled him with a disgusting glee so far, but now there is something else. Fear, maybe. Of what? He doesn’t know.

Whatever that feeling is, he goes back to his book, forgetting about it minutes later.

* * *

When the time comes, he’s just as alone he’s been since the start of this. 

It’s painful, as many people describe it. It makes Rodrigue think about his mother, about the many times she talked about the night he was born. She had survived that, so he should be able to as well. Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to die.

His brother. His father. Lambert. Nobody he loves is here, as the servants walk around him and occasionally wipe his sweat and tears away.He feels the distance between him and them, and he silently wishes for nothing but someone to hold his hand or stroke his hair.

If he dies here, he dies alone, he dies useless. And so he decides he won’t, even if he has no say in the matter, because his duty is to live and to be Lambert’s shield, to become the next duke, and so many other things he must do alone.

The pain subsides eventually, leaving him feeling exhausted and boneless, and Rodrigue hears his child wail as the midwife takes them away. After her, the other servants leave as well, and then, loneliness truly hits Rodrigue.

A small whine comes out of his pained throat, and, despite how much he has cried already, tears start going down his cheeks, bitter on the corners of his mouth.

When they bring the child to him in a little while, Rodrigue is half-asleep, having allowed himself a very brief rest. 'It's a boy, Your Grace.' 

The baby is wrapped in white blankets, neatly cleaned up and asleep. Rodrigue holds him in his arms, stroking the few strands of blue hair on his head, unable to take his eyes away from the sleeping child.

'How will you name him, Your Grace?'

Rodrigue sighs, stroking the baby's nose and cheeks, and watches him shift under the blankets. 'Glenn… Glenn is a good name.'

'Understood, milord… We'll inform the duke.'

Rodrigue nods.

He finds out that the child's eyes are blue, brighter than his own, more like Rufus'. But they might change with some time. Glenn looks at him, eyes slightly open, and a small sound turns into a desperate cry.

'Oh- Oh, dear… Are you hungry? Tired?' Rodrigue murmurs, too tired to realize the baby can't reply. 

In the end, he isn't alone. Glenn is here, and Glenn will stay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of some mentions of transphobia and also uuuhh health problems like miscarriages and cramps. And someone dies but they aren't important tbh.
> 
> Also chapter 3 is scheduled for at least some days after the ending of Felix week because I'm a Felix stan first and a person second and will be participating in both Felix week and Dimilix week. Godspeed to me.

'We've already talked about this, brother.'

Lambert presses his lips together, keeping any insult from coming out of them. This is not the time, even less than any other time he has wanted to call out Rufus' misbehavior. 'I am aware. But all I'm asking is that you deign to visit them.'

'I've told you. I don't care. You can go if you care so deeply.'

'As you know, I am…'

'Busy with kingly duties.' Rufus sighs, rolling his eyes. 'But I don't care, Lambert. And he doesn't want me to go, either.' He puts his hands on his hips, smirking. 'It's a shame, really. Poor thing must be so, so lonely.'

'Hence why,' Lambert's voice trembles as he speaks, 'I'm asking you to visit them.'

'Such a bother…'

'Glenn is your  _ son _ , brother. Your blood. If not for Rodrigue, or for yourself, do it for him. For your family.'

'Family has never done much for me.'

And as usual, the discussion ends with Lambert giving up, deciding that he'll think his wording through again and come back later, whenever he has free time. A waste, truly, because he doesn't want to do anything about it: Lambert is probably not interested in Rodrigue anymore, not even subconsciously, because now there's an unbreakable thread between them. 

Glenn Victor Fraldarius. 

* * *

There aren't many options left for Rodrigue.

A child out of wedlock isn't something he ever aspired to have, and it means many things at the same time. It means what he should do is leave Glenn in an orphanage, and, if he shows signs of bearing a crest, bring him back. If not, he should marry, and there are few people who would marry him at this point.

His father’s top choice for this is Rufus, of course, but Rodrigue would rather eat thorns than marry that man. ‘There must be another option, father.’

‘You’re being oddly stubborn about this, boy.’ Rodrigue looks away, to the crib that rests by his bed. As usual, Glenn is silent, but awake. Like he’s listening to their conversation. ‘It’s an opportunity like never seen before.’

‘I am aware,’ Rodrigue murmurs. ‘But I’d rather our families stayed separated politically. That could be messy, as you can imagine.’ If it had been Lambert, he would’ve jumped on the suggestion immediately, selfish and foolish as he is. ‘I don’t know if the perks are worth the risks.’

‘I do, and they are.’ His father’s hand slams the desk by Rodrigue’s side, making him jump on his seat. ‘Listen to me, boy. You will do what you must for your family honor and this country, and I decide whatever that is until the day I die. Do you hear me?’

Rodrigue flinches. He’s rarely disobeyed his father, so he hasn’t seen much of this side of him before, and even then, it was directed to other people, not him. And it’s hard to say no to the man whose orders he has always followed for the most part, the one who “tolerated” his “gender excentricities”, only because Rodrigue was the one with the crest of Fraldarius.

‘...I… I hear you, father. You’re… right.’

He bites his lower lip, looking down at his hands as his father makes a satisfied sound. ‘I will prepare to part to Fhirdiad tomorrow. There I will talk with prince Rufus and His Majesty about your arrangement.’

Rodrigue nods, wishing only to be left alone for just one minute. And his father does just that, slamming the door shut.

He gets up slowly, and his feet crawl on their way to the crib. Glenn is still awake, his bright blue eyes looking up at his father, unaware of his father’s heartbreak. Rodrigue picks him up, holding his head like he was taught, and manages to give him a smile. ‘It’s hard to change your grandfather’s opinion, Glenn.’ He sits on the bed, and Glenn’s tiny hands reach for his hair. ‘Let’s pray to the Goddess together that he does, alright?’

He kisses Glenn’s forehead, and begs the Goddess, Seiros, and all the Saints that, somehow, his father’s mission fails.

  
  


It does, just not in the way Rodrigue expected it to.

‘Milord, we regret to inform you your father was attacked by bandits on his way to Fhirdiad.’

Glenn sleeps blissfully, head resting on Rodrigue’s shoulder, while the latter feels contradicting emotions.

‘His body has been recovered, as some of his belongings, but not all of them.’

Rodrigue nods, even if he doesn’t understand a word of what she’s saying.

* * *

Lambert and his wife are present for duke Fraldarius’ funeral, but Rufus isn’t. Rodrigue is thankful for this, however: his emotions are complicated enough, he doesn’t need that man around to make them even worse. The occasion is private, only closest family and friends present, as it couldn’t be any other way in this family.

His dear friend squeezes Rodrigue’s shoulder, helping him look up from the spot where the coffin has been buried. ‘Rod.’ His voice alone is like a balm for his soul, somehow easing the painful side of this event. 

‘I am… alright.’ That is the automatic response, that and the small smile that usually accompanied it. 

‘I know how it is, Rod. So, if you need a shoulder to cry on…’

Rodrigue shakes his head. He feels like all his tears for a lifetime were wasted weeks ago, when Glenn was born. ‘I know I can always count on your, Lambert. But it’s alright. It was… sudden, that is all.’

His hand slides down Rodrigue’s arm, and squeezes his forearm. ‘If you say so.’ He thinks about something to say, and pats his friend’s back. ‘May we see the child? Glenn, was his name?’

‘Ah.’ This time, Rodrigue’s smile is more sincere. It would be pointless to just stay here, trying to rationalize what can’t be understood, so he’s thankful for Lambert’s suggestion. ‘Yes, of course…’

His brother looks at him as he walks away from their father’s grave, accompanied by Lambert and Genevieve, and doesn’t say anything. They walk into and through the halls of House Fraldarius, not for long, though, until they arrive at a room in the first floor where a couple of servants are keeping an eye on the youngest member of the household.

‘Ah, there he is!’ Lambert exclaims, more excited that Rodrigue expected him to be. The king salutes the servants politely, before walking around the crib, peeking inside it carefully. His wife giggles, following his steps with the calm and grace proper of the queen. ‘Glenn Victor Fraldarius… What a very handsome boy you are.’

‘I know,’ Rodrigue says, allowing himself a little pride and a smile. 

‘He’s so similar to you, Rodrigue…’ the queen comments, a sincere fondness in her voice that feels like a stab of guilt to the chest.

‘Everyone has been saying that. He’s barely a baby… There’s no way he can look like anyone.’

‘I’d rather have him looking like his noble, incredible father,’ Lambert murmurs, a shadow crossing his face, ‘than… well. I could never apologize enough to you, Rodrigue, for what my brother has done, and for not being able to convince him to visit.’

Rodrigue shakes his head, laughing bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter, truly, Lambert. I am… doing well, despite the circumstances.’ Which wasn’t a lie, not entirely, considering all that has happened lately. ‘So there’s no need to waste your thoughts on me.’

It looks like Lambert is going to say something, but then backs down, taking some air in, perhaps deciding to leave it for later. Then, he looks at the baby again. ‘May we hold him?’

The queen giggles, and Rodrigue wonders why. ‘Of course. Glenn rarely cries, even with strangers.’

Lambert nods, and an amused grin appears on Genevieve's face as she watches her husband lift the baby from his crib as carefully as possible. Much to Rodrigue’s surprise, he seems to already know how to do this, despite his clumsiness with delicate work. ‘There we go… Oh, it’s true! He isn’t crying.’

‘Practicing already, my dear?’

Rodrigue blinks two times, and then stares at his friend. ‘Practicing?’

‘Ah, you see,’ Lambert murmurs, looking into Rodrigue’s eyes as he speaks, and Genevieve clings to his arm. ‘I was hoping to have another chance to tell you… Not in these grim circumstances.’

Rodrigue already knows what he’s going to say, because there is only one possibly thing that could be happening, looking at the way Lambert and his wife stare at each other and cling to each other. And he wishes he could stop time, delay these news as much as possible, because there is enough grief and guilt on his plate.

But, of course, time doesn’t stop for him, as it doesn’t stop for anyone. ‘Genevieve is expecting.’

Whenever emotions are too much, it goes like this: Rodrigue’s conscience is pushed back, and the mask of the man he’s been taught to be takes control of him. It’s like looking at the world through a window, when he congratulates them with what seems like a sincere smile. When he playfully tells Glenn about the Blaiddyd he will be the Shield to when he grows up. It all comes out automatically, with no need to think: He’s just being the model man he’s supposed to be. That artificial man and the stability it brings are more important than the overwhelming feeling of emptiness he’s drowning in.

Lambert’s smile is more important than almost anything.

* * *

“There is someone you should meet,” Lambert had told him, shortly after the funeral. “Someone I think you will get along with.”

He had wanted to be able to tell him that this was the worst possible moment to pull this, because he had a dukedom to manage and a newborn child to look after, but he couldn’t ever say no to any request Lambert made. Still, it took months until he could meet her: a woman named Noelle Emery Korhonen, one of Genevieve’s ladies in waiting, who had been taken in by the queen after she fled her home for unclear reasons.

He doesn’t know what about this lady, with this minimal snippet of her history, could make Lambert think Rodrigue could have any interest at all on her, but he would give it a chance to humor him if nothing else.

By the time he can visit Fhirdiad properly again, Glenn is already a healthy six-month-old baby, and he leaves him behind in Fraldarius under the care of his service and the usual wet nurse. Despite all his care, the way to the capital is an anxious one, mostly because of leaving his child behind for some weeks after spending every waking moment possible with him. But also because of what awaits him there, inside the castle.

As far as he knows, Rufus will be there, and if it weren’t for Lambert’s request, he would turn back to Fraldarius in an instant.

The familiar walls of the castle and the cold winds receive him, and he makes his way to the usual chambers he occupies whenever he visits. One of the servants informs him that His Majesty is currently working and will meet him for dinner, and Rodrigue agrees. He is miles too tired at the moment to interact with anyone. 

‘Thank you for your service,’ he tells the servant, who smiles and bows to him, but her gaze then drifts to the person behind Rodrigue.

A hand rests on the small of Rodrigue’s back, and he knows who it is before he even speaks.

‘Fraldarius. What a surprise.’ Rodrigue shivers, slowly turning around to face the Blaiddyd prince. ‘I wasn’t told you were visiting.’

‘I won’t be here for too long, Your Highness,’ he replies, bowing slightly. ‘Perhaps that’s why.’

‘Perhaps.’ Rufus scans him with his eyes, and one of his eyebrows rises. ‘Haven’t you taken the kid with you?’

‘Glenn,’ Rodrigue mutters, emphasizing the child’s name, ‘has stayed in the dukedom. He is too young to be travelling yet.’

‘Six months seems like a decent amount of time for him to go out into the world, in my opinion.’

Rodrigue would have loved to tell him he doesn’t care about his criteria rising a child, since he’s left Rodrigue to do all the work, but he is too polite to do that. ‘Thank you for your input.’

‘Having a conversation in a hallway seems very uncomfortable to me, though.’ His crooked smirk widens, and he reaches for the doorknob of Rodrigue’s room before he can. ‘So why don’t we continue this inside?’

Rodrigue sighs. ‘I am… thoroughly exhausted, Your Highness. I’m afraid I wouldn’t make an interesting companion this evening.’

‘If you aren’t, I’ll just leave.’

Rodrigue’s shoulders drop, and Rufus knows that he has come out victorious yet again. 

The room isn’t cold, but Rodrigue still shivers when he walks in, jumping at the thud of the door when Rufus closes it. The prince’s hands are on him shortly after, framing his hips, rubbing up and down as his lips stroke Rodrigue’s temple.

As much as he loathes Rufus, it’s hard to not melt into the very needed physical affection he’s been starving for.

‘I was interested in meeting the brat,’ he murmurs, dangerously close to Rodrigue’s ear. ‘Glenn, was that his name?’

Rodrigue nods, giving Rufus an skeptic look. ‘You’re rarely interested in your old mistresses and the trouble you cause them. Why are you so invested now, if I may ask?’

‘Well, you’re special.’

Rodrigue’s heart beats a little faster, despite knowing Rufus is a liar. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, Rodrigue knows this to be a fact after years of growing up close to him. Rufus wants something from him and Glenn, and he might not have enough self-esteem to stop his advances on him, but Glenn is another matter entirely.

‘That,’ he finally says, feeling breathless, ‘is most flattering, Rufus. But I would really like to nap until His Majesty calls for dinner. We can resume this conversation then, if that pleases you.’

Rufus huffs. ‘Always so chivalrous.’ The scorn on his voice is infuriating, but his hands are at last gone from Rodrigue’s hips. ‘If you insist, yes, it would please me. I’ll see you later, then.’

‘Thank you. You are most kind.’

Only when the door is closed the tension leaves Rodrigue’s body, and he drags his feet towards the bed, throwing himself there and surrendering to sleep. 

* * *

He had doubted Rodrigue would even show up at Fhirdiad at all, even less at the dinner table considering he had been unable to drag his own brother out of the castle to make Rodrigue’s visit more peaceful. His failure weighs on him a little less when his friend shows up at the dining hall, looking tired but sporting a calm smile on his face.

Lambert points at the seat in front of him, by Noelle’s side, and Rodrigue hesitates. Lambert can understand: Rodrigue has always been terrible with strangers, too shy to get along easily with someone he just met. Even Lambert himself had to make some effort, as a child, to break some of Rodrigue’s barriers.

But he sits down with Noelle and salutes her. ‘Good evening, lady Noelle. I believe we haven’t met before?’

‘We haven’t indeed, Your Grace.’ She shoots him a friendly smile, and Lambert watches the exchange with the excitement of a young boy. It’s going quite smoothly, so far. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope the meal will be enjoyable for all of us.’

‘Likewise. And the pleasure is mine.’

The conversation is lively, despite Rodrigue actively avoiding Noelle’s eyes once or twice, but he and Genevieve have warned her about Rodrigue’s shyness. Noelle talks a little louder than etiquette would suggest for a lady, but not once invades Rodrigue’s personal space, and her anecdotes keep Rodrigue’s attention or, Lambert would dare to guess by the way he’s smiling, amuse him.

‘If I’m allowed to ask, Your Majesty, where is Genevieve?’

‘She was unwell,’ Lambert replies, sighing. ‘Because of her pregnancy, most probably. Could you give her some advice on that matter?’

He sees a small sign of anxiety on Rodrigue’s face, on the way his eyes widen. And that’s why he rushes to wave a hand at him. ‘Only if you wish to do so, of course. I think she will appreciate your input deeply.

‘Is that so…’ Rodrigue smiles, and takes a sip of his wine. ‘I will… consider it.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Noelle suddenly interjects. ‘You had a child, didn’t you, Your Grace?’

Lambert watches Rodrigue tense up, but finally exhaling and managing yet another smile. He has always admired his friends level-headedness so much. ‘I… do, lady Noelle. His name is Glenn.’

‘Kids are adorable. Did you bring him to Fhirdiad?’

‘No, I’m afraid he’s too young to travel such a long distance safely.’

‘I see, a pity. I’d love to meet him sometime.’ Noelle smiles sincerely, and Rodrigue’s shoulders relax. ‘I’m afraid I will excuse myself and see how the queen is faring, if Your Majesty allows it.’

‘Of course. I know she will be in good company with you, Noelle.’ 

‘Thank you, Your Majesty. And, Your Grace..’ She gets up and curtsies to Rodrigue. ‘It was a pleasure to converse with you.’

‘Likewise, lady Noelle. I hope we have more chances for conversation.’

Lambert can barely keep himself from smiling from ear to ear as she walks away, and Rodrigue’s attention goes back to his plate. ‘So… What do you think?’

Is it just him, or are Rodrigue’s cheeks slightly red suddenly? ‘She is… an interesting lady, Your Majesty. Witty, and offers good conversation.’

‘Good.’ Lambert nods. ‘That’s good.’

Rodrigue huffs, and his expression turns into a most unusual pout from him. ‘Lambert, please be sincere. Are you trying to…’

‘I’m not trying anything at all, my dear friend.’ But his excited smirk betrays him, and it’s so obvious for someone that knows him like Rodrigue does. ‘I just thought… You two could… get along very nicely.’ 

Rodrigue sighs, and takes a sip from his beverage.

* * *

It’s only proper that in any courting process the lord invites the lady for some tea before any other advance is made. Rodrigue knows this, but it doesn’t feel like proper courting when he asks, in his usual friendly manner, if Noelle could accompany him for some evening tea after another meal with His Majesty. When she accepts, the two friends that are with her at the moment giggle, and Rodrigue wishes he knew what to make of it except awkwardly ignore them just like Noelle does.

Except, there’s nothing awkward about the way she acts. This is a woman brimming with confidence everywhere, and Rodrigue can’t help but be jealous of her. Even if it’s just a façade, it’s a well-made one.

He arrives early for their date - it doesn’t feel like the correct term, despite being exactly what it is, a date set up by their king and a part of his duties - at one of the castle’s parlors, the one that is Rodrigue’s favorite. He hasn’t done this before, so he might as well make himself as comfortable as he can be.

She arrives just in time without any hurry, and salutes Rodrigue with a small curtsy before sitting down. ‘Good evening, Your Grace.’

‘Good evening, lady Noelle. I hope you’re in good spirits today?’

‘Pretty much. Oh!’ Her eyes widen when she smells the warm tea in front of them. ‘Is that chamomile tea?’

‘It indeed is. It’s my favorite tea.’

‘Good choice.’ She holds up the cup, sipping from it. ‘For relaxation purposes, I assume?’ Rodrigue nods, taking a sip from his own cup as well. ‘Thought so. Being duke Fraldarius doesn’t sound like an easy job.’

‘It’s my duty nonetheless.’ 

‘Yes, I’ve heard.’ She smiles, amused, and Rodrigue wonders just what is so funny. ‘I find it commendable, being so driven by duty.’

‘We all have it, a duty we must fulfill. You are in service of lady Genevieve, aren’t you?’

Noelle sighs, drinking the chamomile again, like she’s trying to gather time to put her thoughts into words. ‘Yes, but my devotion to her isn’t out of duty. It’s out of gratitude.’

Rodrigue’s eyebrows rise. ‘I see. Well, that’s a good a reason as any.’ 

‘Not the gossiping type, are you?’ She laughs, although with no malice that could be embarrassing for Rodrigue. 

‘I’m afraid not. I’ve had… to face plenty of that these last years.’

‘So I’ve heard.’ Her expression turns more serious, as she looks down at the half empty cup of tea. ‘Me as well. Both disliking and suffering from it.’

There’s a specific way with which Noelle then looks at him that seems important, and, at first, Rodrigue doesn’t understand, until the moment she starts speaking again. 

‘I used to have another name, you see. Some people are distracted enough to keep using that name when they murmur behind my back - they’re not brave enough to use it in front of me, of course. They conveniently forget all about it then, the poor souls. But their whispers are horribly loud.’’

There’s snark in her voice, but also familiar feelings of anger and frustration that Rodrigue remembers feeling, both in the past and nowadays.

‘I’m afraid I know that experience very well.’

‘Your own father included?’

Rodrigue laughs shortly. ‘My father included.’

They laugh again, at the same time and together, despite the pile of sadness hidden behind the sound that seems cheerful from the outside eye. But they both know better, and a thought crosses Rodrigue’s head.

Maybe Lambert and Genevieve were right.

* * *

The announcement of their engagement comes faster than Rufus ever expected. He has seen them, of course, walking around the castle, lady Noelle’s arm clinging to Rodrigue’s, and the tired smile he sported the whole time while with her. 

Rodrigue is always tired, but with her, he smiles. It isn’t the lovestruck smile he sometimes gives Lambert, his eyes aren’t filled with nearly the same raw emotion, but it’s still noticeable that they get along. That they’re fast friends.

For whatever reason, it angers him to the point of causing him nausea. This isn’t how this was supposed to turn out, although he can’t imagine what it was supposed to be either. He didn’t want to get married, and that’s why he sent those bandits after duke Fraldarius, but this…

‘Congratulations, Fraldarius.’ He bows in a respectful manner that is unnatural of him, but Noelle probably doesn’t know that. ‘And lady Noelle. Sadly, I won’t be able to attend the celebrations.’

‘These news aren’t unexpected,’ Noelle comments, a lopsided smile on her face, ‘but we lament your absence in the event nonetheless.’

He doesn’t like her, the way she faces him and looks at him right in the eye, like she considers him less than nothing. Rodrigue, meanwhile, nods, avoiding eye contact with Rufus, but it’s not like he will allow it. ‘That is most touching, lady Noelle. I’d love to have a private chat with your husband, however, regarding matters of state.’

‘Is that so? I thought you weren’t included in matters of state, Rufus.’ Her smile widens, as do Rodrigue’s tired eyes. ‘I suppose I misjudged you, my apologies.’

Rufus doesn't flinch, despite the immediate desire to punch her. 'I am full of surprises, milady. Now, may I have the privilege of talking to duke Fraldarius?'

'You may not,' she replies, defensive. 'He's very much busy at the moment.'

'That is indeed the truth,' Rodrigue concedes, his voice rather weak, especially compared to Noelle's. 'We were on our way to my study, Rufus. If you wish to communicate any important information, it will have to wait unless it's of utmost importance.'

'Understood. A pity.'

'Truly,' Noelle says sarcastically, before she and her fiancé keep walking without looking back.

* * *

Lambert's favorite time of the day is easily the end of it, being free from his responsibilities as king and going back to both his warm blankets and Genevieve's loving arms. Lately, an addition has been made to their routine, in which Lambert asks how her pregnancy is going, how she feels, if he can do anything to help, and if she has thought of a name already. Every night she thinks of different ones that could fit, and all of them sound beautiful for their future child.

The thought of a small child, product of his love for Genevieve, for them to raise together… It makes his heart jump with joy, gives him the energy he needs to get through the endless hours of politics and economics, daydreaming about how in some months he'll be stroking her growing stomach and even feel the baby’s kicks inside her.

However, when he arrives at his room, escorted by Gustave and another Kingdom knight, he immediately notices something is amiss: the door to the bedroom is open, and he hears loud wailing from inside it.

'Genevieve!'

Despite Gustave's attempt to stop him, he rushes into the room, finding his wife lying down on their bed with her back turned to the door, sobbing in the company of one of her ladies in waiting, who raises her head when she hears the king enter.

'Y-Your Majesty,' she starts, terrified of Lambert's possible reaction to whatever is happening. As she speaks, the king circles the bed, more pale with every step. 'L-Lady Genevieve is in immense pain, Your Majesty, lady Noelle has left to find a healer but–'

'Genevieve.' The lady in waiting walks away from the queen, giving the king space to kneel before her. Lambert's hand immediately grasps her, and the other strokes her hair. 'What's wrong, my dear?'

She seems to breathe with more ease, but there's a bead of sweat running down her forehead. Still, she manages a tired smile. 'I– I don't know, we… we were… going to the gardens, and… I started f-feeling sick, and it hurts…'

'Lady Noelle said,' the lady in waiting interrupts, with a low voice fitting to announce bad news, 'that she might be miscarrying, Your Majesty.'

Miscarrying…

But that's impossible. That shouldn't be – This shouldn't be happening to them, not when they were going to be so happy, not when just this morning Genevieve was pondering silly names with a smile on her face.

'There must be something– Rodrigue must know a way– Genevieve-'

Lambert holds her hand, squeezes it tight, as if that could stop what is now inevitable.

* * *

By dawn of the next day, Lambert hasn't slept. Rodrigue has seen many sleepless Lamberts: When he would skip sleep during the days of the Academy, for the sake of fun or passing his tests. When the previous king died, leaving everything on Lambert's shoulders. The nights after that, with so much paperwork that even Rodrigue's help through night and day wasn't enough.

Still, it's nothing comparable to the immense grief that piles up around his friend, his sunken shoulders, his empty stare, and the oddly unruly blonde hair, pointing in all directions, falling over his eyes.

_ It should've been you _ , a voice inside him that sounds very similar to Rufus' repeats.  _ It should've been you that went through that misery. It should've been you who lost his child. You didn't want him, and yet you got him, so how can you face Lambert? _

He sits by his friend's side, and puts a hand over his. It makes Lambert react, if nothing else, by looking up at Rodrigue and forcing a quick smile. 'My king. Lambert...' he whispers his name like he rarely does. 'I am sorry.'

Lambert nods, and tries to put himself back together to the strong monarch that everyone knows and praises and loves.

But that doesn't work with Rodrigue. Still, Lambert manages to say, 'You… Don't have to be. It was inevitable.'

It was, but that does little to mitigate the pain.

'She… has it even worse than I. I shall accompany her.'

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

He lets go of Lambert's hand and watches him get up and halt, shooting Rodrigue a smile that, all in all, looks heartfelt.

'Thank you, Rod. Your presence alone soothes my heart.'

'That is nothing but my duty, as your Duke and friend,' Rodrigue replies, not without guilt, 'Lambert.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware for mentions of stillbirths and abortion and all that stuff. Also Miklan shows up!
> 
> Next chapter is gonna be way more exciting because Dimitri and Felix come into the mix and Glenn and the Gautier kids do Some Stuff.

It's a gloomy autumn day in Fraldarius, and thus anyone that can stay inside would do well to do so. That doesn't stop toddlers from wanting to go play outside, as Rodrigue finds out when he catches Glenn walking out of his bedroom, somehow deceiving even his nanny. The woman runs after him, picking him up. 'Master Glenn, please! Do not run off like that!'

Rodrigue chuckles, getting Margot's attention. 'He's a bit rowdy, isn't he?'

'Children always are, Your Grace.' She sighs, seemingly exhausted, and Glenn whines in her arms, puffing up his cheeks. 'I am very sorry.'

'No need to be. You and Noelle handle him better than I could…' He holds Glenn's face between his hands, kissing his forehead, and the child laughs. 'You're one mischievous rascal, do you know that?'

'Papa! I want out!!' He wriggles in Margot's arms, but her grasp doesn't let go. 'Out!'

'It's too cold outside today, Glenn,' he explains. 'You'd get sick and your nose would be runny again.' With those last words, he pinches his nose, causing the child to gasp and cover it with his hands.

'No runny!'

Rodrigue laughs again, taking Glenn from Margot's arms. 'Perhaps we could play with mama instead? What do you think?'

Glenn nods at the mention of Noelle, murmuring an excited "mama" under his breath. Margot smiles faintly at them. 'I will take a break now then, Your Grace.'

'Please do, Margot. Your service to this house is invaluable.' He bounces Glenn on his arms, giving him a brief but soft look. 'If I have a daughter, I shall name her after you.'

Margot laughs. ‘It’d be an honor to have a Fraldarius lady bear my name, Your Grace.’

They walk together through the Fraldarius manor, down the stairs to the first floor while Glenn stares out of the windows, seemingly captivated by the possibility of going outside after so many cold days spent locked inside. Running freely around the house isn’t easy: the servants are working, and there are countless hazards for such a small child that has just learned how to stand on his two feet.

‘I told Noelle we’d have some tea at the parlor this evening, and I’m afraid I’m already running late. Disgraceful of a gentleman to keep a lady waiting, I know,’ he admits, under Margot’s severe look. ‘But there’s plenty of work to do as off late. Hopefully she can forgive me.’

‘Of course she will, Your Grace.’ Margot scoffs. ‘I think she would forgive anything from you.’

Rodrigue blushes a little,as he does every time someone mentions Noelle’s affection for him. It’s not a romantic thing, neither of them would even dream of it, so it isn’t the ideal marriage most romantic tales talk about. It’s a different thing, better in some ways, even: it doesn’t have the intensity, the passion of a novel marriage, but there is something else he appreciates.

The trust, the calm, the feeling of a close friend at home. Someone to protect that will protect him back and be there even if everything else comes crumbling down. 

It’s not the ideal marriage, but perhaps this is even better.

Glenn babbles something right before they arrive at the parlor, where Noelle waits, dressed in a simple beige dress and lips pressed together in a worried expression. Odd. Rodrigue himself frowns when he notices that, but Glenn only really sees that his mom is there.

‘Mama! Mama!’

That immediately puts a smile on her face, and Rodrigue leaves the boy on the ground so he can run towards her, his tiny hands clinging to her dress when he arrives. ‘Oh my, what a noisy little boy! Mama is right here, Glenn.’ She picks him up, pulling him up on her lap, and kisses his hair. ‘It seems I need to send our son to drag you here, Rod.’

‘I apologize,’ he says and smiles sheepishly before he sits in front of her. There are treats at the center of the table, and also a tea pot, two cups of her favorite tea set with their respective spoons and saucers. Noelle hands Glenn one of the sweets, which distracts him just enough for their conversation. ‘Is something wrong, Noelle?’

‘I’m afraid there is,’ she sighs, and he knows she isn’t referring to the fact that the tea is lukewarm at best because of his delay. ‘While you were locked up working, we received a letter from Fhirdiad.’

The temperature of the room seems to drop, even if the fire still crackles in the fireplace. Bad news from Fhirdiad… ‘I see.’ Why she didn’t tell him this earlier, he doesn’t understand, but there will be time to question that. ‘May I read it?’

‘Of course.’ She slides an envelope over the table towards Rodrigue. The sender is Lambert, and this is his handwriting, and addressed to both him and Noelle. Glenn whines something in a low voice, and Noelle strokes his little hand, while Rodrigue takes the papers out of the envelope.

_ Dear Rodrigue and Noelle, _

_ I am glad to know that your marriage is being a peaceful, loving one. I harbored high hopes that you two would get along rather well, and I’m most relieved and joyous to know I wasn’t wrong. I hope you share a life of sheer happiness and that your union is strong enough to overcome all obstacles. I also hope that Glenn is growing up healthy, because I know for a fact he has the two best parents the Goddess could have ever offered him. _

_ I am, however, going to sour the tone of this letter with news I wish I didn’t have to deliver at all. But since it is a reality I have to confront, I’d rather use my own words, instead of passing the message on to a messenger, as this is a private and deeply painful event for me and Genevieve.  _

_ As you already knew, we were expecting a child for the second time after her first miscarriage, and the pregnancy went on as expected as months passed. She gave birth yesterday as the time of writing this letter. It all seemed to go well: it wasn’t a very long birth and she is alright right now. However, the child wouldn’t cry, or breathe. It was a princess, but she was born already taken by the Goddess. _

Rodrigue swallows, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. ‘...A stillbirth.’

‘It looks like it,’ Noelle murmurs, crumbling a bun between her fingers. Oblivious to the weight of their conversation, Glenn looks up at his parents, clear blue eyes wide open. ‘Genevieve must be… destroyed, right now.’

‘She must be,’ Rodrigue sighs and continues reading.

_ I don’t think there are words I can speak that are able to reflect the pain we, especially Genevieve, are going through at this moment, but there is one thing I’m sure of, and it’s that your presence here might help us cope with the loss. I am sorry to be asking this of you when you’re probably plenty occupied at the moment, and if it isn’t possible, I will understand wholeheartedly. _

‘You want to go, don’t you?’ Noelle says, with a sad smile. Rodrigue nods. ‘Me as well.’

These are not exactly orders from his king, but a request from a friend, Lambert reaching out for a shoulder to support himself on before standing up again. And he’s sure Genevieve and Noelle feel the same as them. Nobody can blame the royal couple for being devastated by this events, when they were wishing for a child beyond the needed heir for the country.

So he will go, no matter what he has to do. His friend needs him.

When their tea is finished and there are no sweets left, Glenn hops off Noelle’s lap, and she gets up, holding the boy’s hand. He’s quick on his feet, agile for a kid his age, but still a kid, so he gladly clings to his mother’s hand.

Margot is informed about their sudden trip to Fhirdiad and left in charge of Glenn, and then it’s time to quickly plan their time there.

* * *

The room is kept dark or dimly lit at best ever since the stillbirth, because of the multiple headaches Genevieve has been suffering, so Lambert works in the adjacent room. It’s been hard to even get her out of bed or make her eat something, which only makes her previous health problems worse, and ends in a cycle Lambert doesn’t know how to even put her out of. A failure of a husband, that’s what he feels like, as he mindlessly reads through another report, another suggestion, another complaint.

It’s impossible to focus like this, so he might take a break. He gets up from his chair, straightens his back, and sighs from the depth of his lungs. He isn’t in the mood for tea or simple conversation, so he walks out of this room, closes the door, and walks into their bedroom, blinking and squinting to get used to the darkness.

There’s a small hint of weak sunlight in between the badly closed curtains, and Lambert wants to take it as an omen. ‘Genevieve?’ He hears a weak sound, and closes the door behind him, making his way to the bed they share. She’s lying there, with her back turned to the door. He tries to make his voice as soft as possible. ‘How are you feeling, my love?’

‘...Better,’ she mumbles. ‘My head doesn’t hurt as much…’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ He leaves a kiss on her head, and lies by her side, putting an arm over her for a hug. ‘Today’s work has been exhausting.’

‘Everything is pretty exhausting lately…’ 

Lambert kisses her shoulder, and finds her hand in the darkness. She sighs, and curls up to him. ‘It is, love.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She says that a lot these days, those two words. Lambert doesn’t like it, because it somehow puts the fault on her for events that are completely out of their control, and some people have truly blamed her for their luck. The food she ate during the pregnancy, the sort of clothes she wore, her sickly disposition. So many people, suddenly questioning why the king would marry someone like that, sickly and shy and, overall, weak.

The answer was love, but Lambert isn’t as delusional as many people think him to be. He knows it only happened because Genevieve was a noble as well, from a very prominent family, because otherwise their marriage wouldn’t have been nearly as easy as it has been up to this point. 

‘It’s not your fault, love.’ He kisses her hair again, his thumb stroking her hand. ‘It was never your fault.’

‘Even so, I failed, all of our attempts failed, and…’ Her voice breaks, despite how tired she is of crying at this point. ‘Sometimes I think about it, the… it was a baby, it was… she should have been alive… she looked alive…’

‘I know. She is constantly in my mind as well.’ The daughter they could’ve had. The princess she could’ve been. But that is a wound only time will be able to heal, that Lambert knows with almost complete certainty. ‘Allow me to suggest something, Genevieve.’

‘What is it?’

‘Let’s stop trying.’ He squeezes her hand, as softly as he can. ‘For a while.’

He can’t see it, but he would bet her eyes are as open as plates by her voice when she speaks again, after she processes the words Lambert just said. ‘But- Lambert, we have to…’

‘There’s plenty of time ahead of us to keep trying. But I think you and I both deserve a break, to just… enjoy ourselves within the limits of our station.’

‘But what if we keep getting unlucky? What if…’

‘I don’t believe that will happen, but, even putting ourselves in the worst case scenario… In that we both die without having a crested heir, or an heir at all… Glenn would be next, being my brother’s only recognized child. So, in a way, the throne is secured in case the worst happens, isn’t it?’

‘I doubt… many people would accept that.’

‘I’m aware,’ Lambert admits. ‘But that’s the worst scenario, remember? A million things could happen, Genevieve. And we’ll be alright no matter what.’

Perhaps, by her tone, she’s smiling when she says, ‘Maybe you’re right.’

* * *

Truly, he has the strangest luck in all of Fódlan.

It’s rare that he ever leaves Itha to visit Fhirdiad, unless his brother nags him to, and this is one such occasion. But he’s glad to be here, unlike most of the service and other nobles present in the court, and the reason for that is most petty even for him.

His little brother’s misery has always been an entertaining show to witness. And this time, the misery is everywhere in the castle, and words related to the queen’s inability to have an heir are muttered constantly where Rufus can hear them. There’s something gratifying in watching the Goddess prove him right without him even trying.

Normally he would have stayed a week, two at most, but now, perhaps it would be better to stay even longer and pretend to be the good, understanding brother he never was for the sake of entertainment.

It gets even better when he finds out that duke Fraldarius, always the loyal pet, has come to visit the king and queen with his wife to offer some consolation. And since he's here, he might as well converse with duke Fraldarius himself.

There's just one insignificant problem.

'What do you even want with my husband,  _ Your Highness _ ?'

Her sarcastic tone makes everything more offensive, and Rufus sighs, putting his hands on his hips. 'I was hoping I could see the child.'

'And what right do you have to do that?' She frowns, staring at him with that ice cold stare. 'Glenn is staying at the dukedom. Away from you as it should be. I bet your mere presence makes toddlers throw up.'

Rufus groans. This woman is so damn dramatic. 'Oh, but you know my reasons perfectly, lady Fraldarius.'

'I don't have an idea of what you're talking about,' she says, feigning ignorance, and crossing her arms over her chest. Rufus frowns: This is no discussion to have in a damn hallway. And Rodrigue must be hearing everything from the inside. The good part of all this is that he must be terribly embarrassed by his spouse's attitude. 'He's under great and loving care, and he definitely does not need a rat nearby.'

'I wouldn't call a royal prince that, lady Noelle.'

'I call things for what they are. If a royal prince thinks I'm calling him a rat, that's on him. Have a good day, sir.'

She goes back inside the room, slamming the door behind her, and Rufus groans. Well, there will be more chances, he thinks.

  
  


Except, there aren't. It's like Rodrigue is glued to either the royal couple (especially Lambert) or to his wife, or all of them at the same time. Supremely annoying, he'd say, if someone asked. It's not like he's going to torture Rodrigue into something, but he is interested in Glenn. 

Because if he has a crest, he might be more useful than Rufus predicted.

* * *

Mama had been screaming for a while, late into the night, and papa had forced him out of the room, yelling that he must go back to his own and stop bothering them. And maybe papa is right, because all he could do was stare there and listen to his mother’s misery as she pushed the little sibling Miklan has heard about out of her stomach.

The kid shivers. That must hurt a lot.

Still, he can’t leave, there’s something anchoring him by the door of his parents’ room, something about mama’s curses and cries that keeps him here. And when they stop, there is no time for silence: The voices of his papa and the nurses in the room rise, and over all of them, a baby’s cry. 

That sound is irritating, like a thousand needles poking his brain, and he just wants to know if his mama is alright. But if he knocks on the door again, papa might get mad, so Miklan stays there, waiting for the chance to sneak in when a nurse walks out of the room. 

And when that happens, that’s what he does: Try to sneak inside without being noticed. But one of the other nurses notices him, and pushes him back out. ‘Please, young master Miklan, you must stay outside.’

‘Why?!’ he whines, writhing like he’s being burned by the nurse’s touch. ‘I wanna see mom!’

‘Your mother is fine, young master. But you must stay outside, in silence.’

Nobody explains to him why. They just throw him out of the bedroom, back into the cold hallway. The nurse that left before comes back with a basin filled with warm water, and walks by him without sparing him a single look. Who is this little sibling, anyway, to be gathering so much attention? He’s still Miklan Anschutz Gautier. He still belongs to the family that rules his house. So why does everyone suddenly ignore him, as soon as this stupid baby is breathing?

  
  


Later on, after what feels like hours aimlessly standing on the hallway, papa lets him enter the room and see the creature. Mama and his little sibling are both asleep, so he must be careful to not wake up either of them, or he will get severely scolded. He understands this, and stays silent as he walks the steps towards the crib.

Papa says, ‘This is your younger brother. His name is Sylvain José.’

He’s really tiny, the tiniest human he’s ever seen. He’s curled up in a ball of wrinkled skin and white fabric, and there’s a bunch of red hair much like his own on his head. He’s very ugly. Miklan wishes he could grab his hand, but that might wake him up and then he’d have to put up with that horrible crying sound again, so he keeps his hands to himself for now. 

The words that come out of the margrave’s mouth sound like a prophecy, one of that will stick in Miklan’s mind until the last of his days.

‘And he, hopefully, will be the legitimate heir to our house.’


End file.
